


that unwanted animal

by withanie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (not really I think but might be close enough to trigger some people), Angst, Animal Death, Domestic Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, angry crying, monster hunt, soft apologies in the dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withanie/pseuds/withanie
Summary: “I found something, look!” Jaskier called.Geralt stared down at the werefox kits. “Fuck,” he sighed.“Aren’t they cute? —Ow!” He glared down at the kit who’d bitten his finger. "Can we - you said they’re usually harmless, right? Can we find somewhere safe for them to live? Somewhere they won’t be bothered by humans?”Geralt has to perform an act of mercy. Jaskier doesn't see it that way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	that unwanted animal

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the middle of writing a 5+1 of Geralt being Very Soft, and this...was not _quite_ soft enough.
> 
> Title from The Amazing Devil's album _The Horror and the Wild_.
> 
> Explicit trigger warnings are in end notes.

“So…what exactly is a werefox?” Jaskier asked, trying to follow in Geralt’s sure footsteps as they struggled through the dense forest. “I’ve never heard of it before. Is it just like…a werewolf but instead it’s a fox?”

“No,” Geralt said without turning back. “The name’s a misnomer. They do look like foxes, but they grow to be much larger. They can walk on their hind legs, which some find disturbing. Usually they’re harmless. But rarely one will develop a taste for human meat, and must be destroyed.”

“That sounds creepy,” Jaskier said, grimacing.

“Their bite is venomous, too,” Geralt added, “and they have psychic abilities.”

“Wh…wait, what? Psychic?” 

“Mhm. It’s thought they can sense a living creature’s mind with their own. And they have a limited ability to control a living creature, as well, though only at very close proximity.”

“Oh. Excellent, mind control. You know, this creature sounds _not at all_ safe to kill,” Jaskier said.

At that, Geralt stopped and turned around, giving Jaskier a look that the bard thought might be incredulity. “It’s not,” he said, after a moment.

Jaskier sighed and gestured for Geralt to keep walking. As the Witcher began to move again, Jaskier said, “So, how exactly do I help with this…psychic, venomous, man-eating, bipedal fox?”

“Stay out of my way,” Geralt said. “And try to fight any urges to run straight towards it, or into a tree, or anything.”

“Out of the way, fight urges to run into death. Got it,” Jaskier said, then, under his breath, “This does _not_ sound safe.”

“I heard that,” Geralt said, glancing back to look at Jaskier, and - was that a hint of amusement in the Witcher’s eyes? Jaskier smiled to himself.

After a few minutes of walking in relative silence, Jaskier asked, “So how many werefoxes have you fought befo—”

“Quiet,” Geralt interrupted, crouching suddenly and holding up a hand. Jaskier went quiet and copied his posture. Geralt pulled a small vial out of his pocket and downed it quickly - one of his Witcher elixirs. “Feel that? We’re close,” Geralt said quietly.

Jaskier looked around. “Feel what?” he whispered.

“A sort of buzzing in your mind.” And then, Jaskier did feel it - like a tiny vibration coming from inside his skull. He shook his head, trying to be rid of it, and Geralt nodded. “Stay down,” he said. “Don’t get killed.”

Jaskier huffed at that, but stayed put as Geralt began to creep forward. Watching the Witcher fight was always fascinating - how he knew where his opponent was, what it was going to do, before the creature was even visible. How he anticipated its movements. How effortlessly he danced from move to move, how graceful. This fight looked to be less perilous than some he’d observed - the creature was large, yes, somewhat taller than Geralt and strongly built. And the sight of an enormous fox standing upright like a man was certainly uncanny. But Geralt was matching the creature blow-for-blow, and Jaskier was not afraid for him.

A change in that strange buzzing in his head distracted Jaskier from the fight, made him turn to look - it was like the buzzy spot had tilted and spun around, suddenly, putting him off balance. Looking toward the source of the change, he thought he saw - movement, in the bushes? He glanced toward the fight once more, then crawled toward the bushes. Carefully, he pulled a branch aside.

“Oh…by the eyes of Melitele,” Jaskier murmured as he looked down at his find. “This may be the cutest thing I have ever seen.” Within the bushes was a nest of three tiny fox kits - or, Jaskier supposed, werefox kits. Unlike their terrifying elder, they were fuzzy and bright-eyed, curiously but fearlessly looking up at him. He found himself reaching toward them; the nearest one grabbed his finger with its paws and pulled it toward itself, then began to chew gently on the digit. “My heart is melting,” Jaskier whispered, gazing at them.

Behind him, he heard a crash, a wordless yell. Then, “Jaskier!”

The bard turned around. “Here, Geralt,” he called. “I found something, look!”

Geralt came up from behind him and stared down at the kits. “Fuck,” he sighed.

“Aren’t they cute? —Ow!” He glared down at the kit who’d bitten his finger, and was now trying to do the same to its sibling’s tail. He shook his finger lightly. “Can we - you said they’re usually harmless, right? Can we find somewhere safe for them to live? Somewhere they won’t be bothered by humans?”

Geralt’s face was …angry? Sad? “Walk away from them, Jaskier.”

“What? Why?” Jaskier looked down at the cute little things again, then back at Geralt.

Geralt shook his head. “I have to kill them. You won’t want to watch. Walk _away_.”

“Geralt—” Jaskier moved to step between Geralt and the kits. “No, you _said_ they were harmless, you said it’s _rare_ for them to—”

“Damnit, Jaskier! They are _going_ to die, now _walk away_.”

“They’re _harmless!_ ” Jaskier yelled.

Geralt grabbed his arm, hard enough to bruise, and pulled him roughly away from the kits. “You will _stay over there_ , Bard,” he said.

For the first time Jaskier felt afraid of Geralt, heard the threat in his voice. He knew he could not stop the Witcher from doing whatever it was he was going to do to those kits. But he could make his protest known. “You’re _killing babies_ , Geralt,” he screamed. “Are you proud of yourself? Such a powerful Witcher, you went through all that training, all those mutations, so you’d have the strength to kill baby animals as they lie _playing_ in their _nests?_ ” He found that tears were running down his cheeks, and turned away. He took deep breaths, trying to swallow down a sob.

A few minutes later, a tentative hand touched his shoulder. “It’s done,” Geralt said quietly. “Let’s go.”

“You go,” Jaskier said coldly. “I…I don’t know if I want to be traveling with you anymore.”

Geralt sighed. “You won’t make it out of these woods alone, and it will be dark soon. Once we get back to the village, you must do as you think best. But travel with me until then, for your safety. Please.”

Damn it, the Witcher was right. “Fine,” Jaskier said, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, and turned around. Ignoring the handkerchief Geralt held out to him, he began down the path they had taken into the forest.

For the first time in their acquaintance, Jaskier was silent. He refused the hand Geralt held out to help him down a pile of rocks; he refused the hesitant overtures at conversation Geralt offered, though he knew it must have been difficult for him to try. Though he was still very angry with the Witcher, he began to feel embarrassed about his tears. An outburst like that was unlike Jaskier; he wasn’t sure where it had come from. He began, also, to be acutely aware of the nip the playful kit had given him. It started to burn, then to throb, and the rest of his hand started to feel numb. He said nothing to Geralt.

A couple of hours into their journey back, it was becoming too dark to travel. Geralt found a small clearing by a stream, and quietly began to set up camp. Jaskier helped, as usual; the only difference tonight was his continued refusal to speak. They finished quickly; they had traveled light.

Jaskier stared into the fire as he ate the trail food they’d packed. He wasn’t sure, now, how he felt. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling anger. Now, mostly, he just felt tired. His finger throbbed in time with the fire’s flickering.

From across the flames, Geralt quietly said, “The werefoxes…they were the reason why you were upset earlier. They can manipulate emotion, make others defend them. It’s part of their defenses.”

“I _was_ angry with you, Geralt,” Jaskier said tightly. “I still am, and they’re dead now. Right? They aren’t manipulating me now.”

“No,” Geralt agreed, and there was sadness in his voice, Jaskier would swear it. “The anger was - is - real, I believe. But the tears were due to their influence. I don’t think it’s in your character to cry like that.”

Jaskier frowned as Geralt repeated the thought he’d had earlier, about his tears, but said nothing.

Geralt sighed. “We’ll start early tomorrow morning. You should sleep, if you can.” 

Jaskier nodded, stood, went to the place he’d prepared his bedding and lay down.

He was, surprisingly, able to fall asleep easily. But the discomfort of the ground and the pain in his hand woke him repeatedly. Each time he woke, he found that Geralt had not yet retired, but kept his place at the fire, staring into the flames. The fourth or fifth time Jaskier woke, he found the fire banked. Geralt, though, still wasn’t asleep. Across the clearing, a few steps into the trees, he was working hard at something - what, exactly, Jaskier couldn’t make out.

_Do I **want** to know?_

Jaskier turned his head to look up at the stars. Why had Geralt’s actions bothered him so much today? Jaskier had grown up on an estate that housed plenty of animals; he knew they must be slaughtered sometimes, and that included young animals as well as older ones. And these kits, for all they may have grown up to be ‘harmless,’ as Geralt had said, were the offspring of a man-eating monster that had taken a father from one family, a beloved son from another. Jaskier kept reliving that moment, though, seeing that grim coldness in Geralt’s face as he looked at the little things, feeling the buzzing in his head and the sweet softness of the kit as it grasped his finger in its paws, Geralt’s shove and his shout and the tears, _I’ve taken care of it_ , the hesitant touch on his shoulder. His finger, throbbing, burning. 

He sat up. “Geralt?” 

The Witcher looked over at him, then silently gestured for Jaskier to join him.

Jaskier rose and went to stand beside where Geralt was… “Digging a hole?” he asked. “Why?”

Geralt nodded to a small cloth bundle lying beside the hole. “The kits,” he said quietly. “Their mother I was happy to leave as carrion, but I don’t have the heart to let the little things be eaten by some scavenger. Silly, but…”

Jaskier sighed. “Geralt…” He stopped. He didn’t know what to say.

“I tried to keep a werefox kit alive, once,” Geralt said quietly. He placed the bundle carefully into the hole, and began to fill it back in with dirt. “It wasn’t long after I started walking the Path. It didn’t…I think they need the psychic bond from their mother, something like that. It stopped eating after the first day, cried constantly, started biting itself all over until it bled. It hurt my…” He put a hand to his temple. “I think it was making me feel what it felt from the loss of that bond. I put it down, eventually.”

“How sad,” Jaskier murmured. “Such sweet little things.”

Geralt nodded, then looked at Jaskier. “I’m sorry I was rough with you today,” he said. “I couldn’t explain…I shouldn’t have yelled, or grabbed you like that. I was angry with myself, too. I didn’t want to kill them. But I had to.”

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “I think you were right, about them influencing me, somehow, or… It must have been hurtful to you, what I said.”

Geralt frowned at Jaskier, then shrugged. “You made a fair argument. To kill something small and helpless… no warrior should do that.”

“You shouldn’t leave them to suffer and die of neglect, either,” Jaskier said softly.

Geralt scooped the last of the dirt onto the mound, now, and walked over the mound to tamp down the soil. Jaskier stood and helped. 

“How badly did I injure your arm?” Geralt asked, once they finished. “You’ve been favoring it.”

“Hm? Oh…you didn’t hurt me. I mean, it might bruise. You have a strong grip.” He glanced down at his bicep, where Geralt had grabbed him earlier. “That little kit bit my finger right when you came over, though.”

“ _What?_ ” Geralt quickly grasped his wrist and held the finger in the air, peering at it.

“What happened to ‘Sorry for grabbing your arm?’” Jaskier grumbled, as the quick movement shot a bolt of pain through his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, and loosened his already-gentle grip, but kept peering at the finger.

“I guess since you’re being my medic, I’ll give you a pass on this one,” Jaskier said. “Can you really see it without your potions, though? I thought you needed that cat one to see in the dark.”

“It helps,” Geralt said absently, “but I can see well enough in this light. Jaskier, did I not mention to you that those creatures were _venomous?_ ”

“…oh,” Jaskier said, and suddenly felt slightly sick. “I…forgot?” Geralt said nothing, continuing to examine Jaskier’s hand. He felt his pulse pick up speed from his fear. “Is it going to kill me, or, or cripple my hand or something?”

Geralt looked up at his face briefly, and gave him a small reassuring smile. “No, you’ll be fine,” he said. “In kits, the venom is not very potent. Your hand will likely be numb for a week, though.”

Jaskier sighed. “No lute for me, then, for a bit,” he said sadly. “Come to think of it, I might have a difficult time with other things, too. I guess you’ll just have to…wash my hair for me and such, for a few days.”

“You won’t be parting from me as soon as we return to civilization?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow as if in jest. To Jaskier, though, it seemed like his question was sincere.

He smiled at Geralt. “Of course not, you silly Witcher,” he said. “Who would look after you, if not me?”

“Seems I’ll be looking after both of us until your hand heals,” Geralt grumbled. “I can make a poultice for it back at the village, which might help. In the meantime, we should both try to get a little sleep tonight.” He led Jaskier back to the dim campfire and helped him lie down - somehow a more difficult task to perform one-handed than standing up had been a few minutes ago. 

Jaskier drifted off listening to Geralt’s slow, even breaths. He did not wake again until morning.

The next morning, as Jaskier turned to follow Geralt back on their path to civilization, he saw from the corner of his eye that a small something had been left on the mound Geralt had dug last night for the werefoxes. He knelt by the hasty grave. Laid upon it were three small yellow wildflowers. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt called from ahead on the trail. “Alright?”

“Fine,” Jaskier called back, standing. “I’m right behind you.” With his good hand, he plucked another dandelion from the ground and tucked it behind his ear. Then he followed his Witcher back to the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings:
> 
> -Animal death: Geralt kills some baby fox-monsters. They are described as being very cute. Their deaths are not explicitly shown.
> 
> -Domestic violence: Geralt grabs Jaskier's arm hard and shoves him away from the baby monsters, which Jaskier is protecting. Geralt is angry (not at Jaskier, but it might read that way). There is an apology later.
> 
> -Animal burial: Of the little fox-monsters. No bodies are described.
> 
> If there's anything else I've missed, please tell me and I will add it!


End file.
